Let Us Go, Then
by Solanopteris
Summary: As he dies, he knows that it was always them. /One shot


We were old together, you and I.

Your empathy was fake. Your sociability was fake.

But then there was us.

It was always us.

* * *

><p>The warmth and wind mixed with petrichor blew through the half-open window.<p>

Spring.

Although they had spent a better part of their lives as a single, almost inseparable unit, he had never understood his friend's obsession with bees. The tiny creatures were important to the survival of the planet, but he doubted that this was considered when the topic of moving to Sussex was broached.

But now, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking in sun and tea and petrichor, he _comprehended_.

* * *

><p>They said that the nightmares would fade with the memories and years.<p>

He couldn't wait for that day.

(_White hot pain burning—bleeding out on the sand—please God let me live—darkness—dullness—friends dying—I am become Death—_)

He has broken the Hippocratic Oath more times than he cares to count. Sometimes, it was for the best. Others, it was for survival.

Morality has little place in war.

* * *

><p>Each time he awoke from his dreams of Afghanistan, he recites his litany<p>

_221B Baker Street. London._ _England. _

He cannot help but think of the revolver in his drawer.

He may miss the war, but that doesn't mean he liked it.

* * *

><p>I drag myself back into consciousness and out of bed. There is the sound of an attempt at making toast and tea.<p>

Each breath smarts, and I have been old longer than I want to remember.

_And time yet for a hundred indecisions  
><em>_And for a hundred visions and revisions  
><em>_Before the taking of toast and tea_

I smile sadly. It is wishful thinking, that I should have that much time.

Soon, there would be nothing but darkness.

* * *

><p>'What if you're allergic?'<br>'I guess I die, then.'  
>'And what? Leave me behind again?'<br>The shock and subsequent softening of that piercing gaze was incredibly disconcerting, and completely terrifying.  
>Not pity, not apology, but sadness. Regret.<br>Fear.

* * *

><p>He has not had more than a passing thought of a consulting criminal in years.<p>

But he dreams of the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

He must be an angel, coat spread out behind him, black wings, hurtling to the ground. Falling is just like flying, isn't it?

He always wanted to fly.

* * *

><p>The first time he helped with the hives, he was incredibly nervous even though he knew they wouldn't sting without reason.<p>

It didn't help when a queen was placed in his hands.

The workers will always follow their queen: it is in their nature.

He remembered their first months of beekeeping, and the manic buzzing of the colonies as they swarmed and were attuned to new queens.

He remembered the utter calm and contentment that emanated from his best friend as the bees covered him.  
>It was eerie, hearing the buzzing settle into slow music.<p>

Once again, that calm emanated from the man at his side. He breathed in, and let the warmth of a thousand tiny bodies and the sun and the humming take him in…

* * *

><p>They were reminded constantly that they were not supposed to be friends, or live in the same space.<br>_Could be dangerous. He's a psychopath.  
><em>The most unlikely flatmates in the world.  
>No one expected them to survive each other.<p>

* * *

><p>I find myself standing in front of the mirror, staring at my wrinkles. My hands are those of an old man, and my bones feel like they are being ground to dust. Really, I should be at breakfast, but eating is too much effort, wastes too much energy.<p>

But I walk with faltering steps to the kitchen.

_One last day with your beloved. Which day will you choose?_

Definitely this one.

You know. I can see it in your eyes, in the hesitation in the pouring of tea.  
>There is such sadness as I have never seen. It permeates.<p>

I'm so sorry.

* * *

><p>He is perched on the bed next to the still figure, and awaits the next intake of breath. Hope is so human.<p>

* * *

><p>We are old and young together.<p>

If there's a place for us, I'll meet you there.

I'll wait for you.

It will always be us.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fin<strong>_.

_Please review._

_The quote about 'the taking of toast and tea' is from _The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock_ (the entire thing is absolutely lovely) and 'One last day with your beloved' is from DW_ A Christmas Carol.


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